


Crimes Against The Spark

by brokenAmphora



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:31:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5885947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenAmphora/pseuds/brokenAmphora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron chose death. Optimus has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimes Against The Spark

In a world that I don’t want to know  
With a message that I never want to send  
To be free from all of this  
I want you to quicken my end

(set in IDW’s G1 continuity)

“Death.”

The word hung in the air, lingered in Optimus’ audials.

It made sense; Megatron would choose death before he would let himself rust in a cell. Optimus can’t say he would choose any different in Megatron’s position.

But he wasn’t in Megatron’s position. He was always the mirror, the one constant force in Megatron’s life as their factions and political structures crumbled only to rebuild around them. It had always been them at the center of the hurricane that had decimated worlds and swallowed billions. The idea of giving the past four million years up in a word seemed…wrong.

Optimus left the holding chamber that shift in processor disarray. He stalked his way down the hall to the surveillance room, passing his comrades without a word. He punched the key pad to the surveillance room firmly with his index finger and entered. His resolve crumbled with the soft hiss of the door closing, and he sank into the chair, hunched over with his helm in his servos.

“Megatron, what have you done?”

\- - - - - -

Missions and political logistics were all that kept Optimus level upon the return trip to Cybertron. He couldn’t–wouldn’t–deal with the idea of someone that had been so integral to his life ending it all with a single word. Yes, it would potentially mean the end of the war. It could also cause an uprising out of martyrdom. If Megatron is allowed to live, his underlings will no doubt come to free him. This is where Optimus, among the shuffling of information and miscellaneous repairs done on Omega Supreme for the duration of the trip, was troubled. Megatron bluffed once, and then twice, convincingly. He may not have the chance to bluff a third time.

Why had Megatron really surrendered, and what was he to do with him?

Optimus never said where he was going when he did, and he never had to. If he was gone for long periods of time, it was quite possible he was watching his crush arch-enemy from the balcony. Over the course of the return trip, he had done this a total of eight times. Each time left him strangely frustrated and with a processor ache similar to a hangover. He almost wished he had engex stashed somewhere, but there’s no doubt Omega Supreme would be wise to it.

It didn’t help matters that Optimus had his reservations about Megatron’s decision, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on…or, perhaps, didn’t want to find out.

\- - - - - -

A hiss of the door, and Optimus and Ultra Magnus were free from the high council chamber. It was imperative that they be debriefed as soon as they touched down on Cybertron.

“You didn’t have to save my aft, you know. I’m not infallible.” Optimus gazed into a nonexistent point in space as they walked down the hallway. His own words stung.

“Don’t thank me.”

“…Do you know where they’re keeping Megatron?” Optimus asked meekly.

“Our prisoner is under the finest care Cybertronian Justice can serve, rest assured.”

“Magnus–”

“Worry about your new assignments. You’ve done enough.”

“Hey. I have a right to know where he is.”

“Do you?” Magnus whirled and looked down upon him as a vengeful gatekeeper does a child knocking on the door of an old and worn mansion. Optimus was helpless to resist as the larger mech pulled him aside into a dim hallway.

“Do you really believe you have that right after you displayed the coziest form of camaraderie with a Decepticon I’ve seen in these millions of years I’ve spent beside you? Do you understand how this appears to the high council? I saved your reputation once today, Optimus. I’m under no obligation to continue doing so if you go down this path.”

A numb sensation trickled down Optimus’ spine. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Don’t try to lie to me. It won’t work, and neither will your plans. Not for long.”

Optimus’ mouth opened and closed behind his face mask. “Wh–how did you know–”

“I watched you, Optimus. For two months you did nothing but sulk in your surveillance chamber and keep more hours than necessary watching Megatron.”

“Someone had to watch over him, for security reasons.”

“For five hours at a time? In the observation room outside the prison chamber?”

“I…”

“As your key commander I am responsible for ensuring the mission is successful, among other things, particularly the mental and emotional stability of my soldiers. By rights I should have informed the high council you were compromised the second I discovered.”

“Discovered what, exactly? You’re making more of the situation than there is.”

“Don’t make me say it. I might heave.”

Optimus certainly felt like heaving as his processor raced, the aftermath of battles or briefings of Decepticon surveillance recordings providing time for a little “relief” while he was alone to think about the way Megatron commanded his army, or the skirmishes between Megatron and himself that left his limbs weak and aches completely unrelated to where he’d been injured.

“Seeing as you are emotionally compromised, my suggestion to you is to focus on your new assignments. It’s in your best interest, and frankly, in the best interest of the people. You’ve always cared about that, haven’t you?”

Magnus turned on his heel, leaving Optimus to warm himself by the smelting pit of lies he had told himself, presented to him by one of the few people he considered a friend.

\- - - - - -

Optimus took Magnus’ advice and buried himself in assignments, shuffling information back and forth and planning new reconnaissance missions, all of which he led with not so much as a hitch under Magnus’ watchful optics. For all intents and purposes, Optimus was in perfect working order and showed little trace of emotional compromise. This meant one of two things was happening: either Optimus had forced himself to move past Megatron, or he was making plans to do something quite foolish. It was rare Optimus was reckless, so Magnus decided to give Optimus a chance. He hoped it was the right decision.

\- - - - - -

The cell Megatron sat in was silent except for the distant echoes of cell doors closing and prisoners pathetically begging for release. They were usually the newer ones in the ward. The silent ones were either resigned to their fate or had seen the inside of a cell before…both of which applied to Megatron.

He passed the hours etching designs in the walls with his optics, musing over the conversation he had with Optimus. It was surely the last one they would ever have, as his execution was going to be very soon. A few days, in fact. And all he had done in that time was goad and break Optimus for the pleasure of it.

He wondered if there was ever any pleasure in it to begin with, really. He had said it pleased him to kill billions and that he would kill billions more for the pleasure of it, but what he really loved was the conflict. Fighting for something. Having a force to oppose, to validate the only existence he had ever known, because he isn’t allowed to have any existence outside slavery or fighting for freedom. That is how it had always been. He had grown to love it.

And now, here he was, his last cause for living running out, with nothing but death to turn to. Life in a jail cell wouldn’t be worth living if he couldn’t see Optimus sometimes, to bicker, to reminisce. Sometimes, much like now, he wondered if Optimus was the only reason he carried on. He never hated him, always forgave him for his part in the war. He had told him himself; he hated what Optimus represented, but never hated him.

Then, he had asked if Optimus hated him. Why had he done that? He supposed it was to hear Optimus admit his own character flaws after millions of years of being hailed as the infallible golden poster sparkling of the Autobot regime. A stray line of code in his processor–and 4 million year old ache in his spark–told him something entirely different.

Megatron tried to shake the thought, but another followed; that he would rather die than live life and never see Optimus again. This time, he let it linger, like the dazzling static after effect of a full-body punch to the face from someone you loved.

After all, if this dance of desires was going to end with his decision, he would gladly take the blow; and the only one he would take it from is Optimus.

\- - - - - -

“Five loosely organized groups of Decepticons on the outskirts of the city, three to the west, two to the northeast.” Optimus pointed to the hologram above Ultra Magnus’ desk.

“No detection?”

“None these last few missions.”

“Excellent. Follow surveillance protocol for the other cities on the list. Report to me for your next mission in a week. Dismissed.”

Optimus rose from the chair and turned to leave.

“Did you hear that Megatron is going to be executed today?”

Optimus froze, and looked over his shoulder. A low whipser hissed from his facemask. “No…”

“What was that, soldier?”

“No, no sir. I hadn’t heard.”

“Consider yourself informed. The execution is after sundown. I trust you won’t do anything rash?”

Optimus nodded his head. “Of course not, sir.”

“Head on home, soldier.”

“Yes…sir.”

He left Ultra Magnus’ office with rigid shoulders, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

He waited until he got to his flat to beat holes in the walls. He threw things and all but trashed half the place, ending his tantrum of anguish and conflict with an explosive scream.

\- - - - - -

Ratchet’s personal comms rang in his audials, distracting him from washing off the dull blue-grey of used energon from his servos.

“Yes, who is this?”

“Ratchet, it’s Optimus.”

“Optimus? You don’t usually call at this time of day. Something wrong?”

“…I need advice.”

“About what?”

“Say you had two choices. One is morally right for everyone, but feels entirely wrong. The other is morally ambiguous, maybe even selfish, and feels right. Both are potentially dangerous to everyone. Which would you choose?”

“The first one, with little doubt.”

“Fair point. But…”

“…But?”

“If you had chosen the second path, what would you use to justify it?”

“Hm…sometimes the right decisions aren’t the ones that have everyone’s best interest in mind. You can calculate all the possible outcomes, but you can’t predict exactly which one will fall into place. Sometimes…you have to trust your spark.”

Silence.

“Why do you ask? Are you alright?”

“Just a curiosity. Thank you, Ratchet.”

The comms cut off immediately after. Ratchet blinked and went back to his post-op routine. He found it odd that Optimus didn’t say “See you tomorrow, old friend.” after thanking him, but thought nothing further of it.

\- - - - - -

What has come over me  
What madness taken hold of my heart  
To run away, the only answer  
Pulling me away  
To fall upon the night

The sun hung lower in the sky with every second Optimus waited, debated, tapped his fingers upon the berth. If he waited too long, he would never see Megatron again. If he went through with his plan, he would never be able to return to Cybertron.

He thought of Cybertron, his home, which had been torn asunder countless times by their conflict. He remembers his formative years in the academy, how they had all been wonderful at the time, how they now seem pointless in hindsight. They had only ever been preparation for the war that would never end so long as he and Megatron lived upon it.

He turned his thoughts to Megatron. Cybertron had only been a prison for him, but never a lost cause, much like himself. Cybertron had been home to Optimus, yes, but he was often away on missions, space-born, patrolling planets in search of Decepticon outposts. Most of his life had been spent off-world fighting a corrupt war. Most of his life had been spent with Megatron as his opposite.

In fact, Megatron was not just his opposite…he was the Prandtl to Optimus’ Grashof. Together they formed the natural convection of Cybertronian civilization. Without their conflict, the new government would not be welding itself together. Somehow, it was important that they survived, and survived they did, for millennia.

It couldn’t end here. The people could not believe that they had just given up their conflict this easy. They were too integral to the lore of Cybertron.

Maybe, just maybe…it would be best if they faded like old legends instead of watching while everyone praises their death.

Optimus looked up to the sunset illuminating his flat. The usually golden sunset was less saturated than before, almost a cold light glazing over the smooth spires.

He vented harshly and rose from his berth, marching to the door. His servo hesitated at the keypad as a line of code lingered in the forefront of his mind.

This is wrong.

There will be consequences.

You will never see Cybertron again.

He leaned with his forearms against the door, head hanging between them in anguish.

“Fuck.”

The word was soft but spoke volumes of the conflict he was faced with.

He pushed away any last thoughts and punched in the code to his flat without so much as a last look around his home, lest he change his mind. But first, he needed to take a detour…

\- - - - - -

Ultra Magnus refused to tell him where Megatron was imprisoned, but truthfully, it wasn’t hard to figure out. Optimus’ years as a cop and continued work arresting war criminals helped him find the building easily. Nondescript, with underground sections and extremely tight security. No doubt some of his old co-workers would be guarding Megatron’s cell.

He peeked around the corner from an alley, mindful of the sun, already halfway below the horizon. Time was a luxury even he wasn’t able to afford. He had to be quick.

Optimus charged his gun, aiming at the officers guarding the door.

\- - - - - -

Megatron had resigned himself to humming old tunes from his formative years, murmuring old lyrics punched on data-pads he had stashed away for his writing.

Give into the night…

It was the only thing that would allow him some peace before the inevitable clamor of soldiers come to execute him.

A door to the central ward creaked open. I suppose they’re eager to get rid of me, he mused.

Four soldiers packing additional inhibitor chips and dampening cuffs for transport arrived in front of his cell. His optics shifted towards them, dim as he embraced death. One of the soldiers tapped a keypad, and the electric blue beams phased out, allowing them to enter the cell.

“Stand up, prisoner.”

“That’s Megatron to you, Autobot. You would do well to remember your enemies.” He did as he was told despite his retort.

“Whatever. Hold out your arms.”

The cuffs went over his forearms, and inhibitor chips were placed over his neck, chest, waist, knees, and spinal strut. He remained silent as two of the soldiers gripped his arms and led him out of the cell.

They led him down the catwalk, through the door, and into a large hallway with a series of offshoots leading to darker cells. They made it halfway down the hallway before gunfire sounded off behind him.

Megatron whirled around just in time to see the shattered, sparking audial of the soldier guarding his aft lying on the floor. The three remaining soldiers fired back at the unknown assailant in the shadows, only to be taken out within seconds by precision shooting. Megatron had put his hands up in front of his face out of instinct and did not see the shooter until he dropped his arms.

Megatron gaped, facial plating contorting in disbelief. “Optimus?! What the fu–”

“No time. Let’s get you out of here.”

Optimus led a few steps ahead before he realized Megatron wasn’t following him. “Megatron?”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I chose death. That is what I will get, and I always get what I want.”

Optimus reached out and hooked his arm around Megatron’s. “Well that makes one of us. You’re coming with me,” he held up the inhibitor chip control pad, “whether you like it or not.”

Megatron struggled indignantly against Optimus’ grip whilst shouting curses, but the inhibitor chips and cuffs made it difficult for him to resist being pulled along. Despite Megatron’s large mass, Optimus still managed to lead him down the hallway, gun at the ready, shooting at the soldiers alerted to his break in.

“You know it would be a lot easier to bust you out of here if you weren’t alerting the building at large to our presence.”

They passed a few soldiers laying on the ground as Optimus retraced his steps. “I think you did a fine job of that yourself, Optimus.”

“Shut up, I’m doing you a favor.” They rounded a corner; more soldiers. Optimus fired and pushed forward while Megatron ducked behind him.

“How exactly?”

“Would you rather die?” Optimus shouted over his shoulder.

“Yes, actually! And I was quite comfortable with my fate before you fucked it up!”

Optimus finished off the last soldier. “Well aren’t you grateful.”

The sound of a door busting open ahead of them and a familiar voice leading the new wave of soldiers stopped them in their tracks.

“Shit, Magnus!”

Optimus frantically looked back down the hallway, spotting another dark offshoot. “Come on, this way. There’s another exit.”

He pulled a grumbling Megatron along with him down the other hallway, remembering the blueprints with which he plotted his rescue just days ago. If he remembered them correctly–and he was certain he did–the backdoor exit would be just about…

“Here!”

He punched in the security code for the keypad and…nothing.

“Oh come on!” He punched it in again, still nothing. They must have been in lockdown.

Optimus growled and shot the door, pulling it open with both arms and dragging Megatron out of the facility, into the back alleys of Iacon and away from the streets crawling with soldiers.

“WHERE are you taking me, Optimus?” Megatron growled.

“Just call me Orion.” He looked both ways and listened for soldiers approaching their location, and then continued across the street into another alley.

“Orion–why?!”

“Well…”

\- - - - - -

Ratchet’s shift was just about over, all he had to do was fill out some data-pads to update his patients’ status and treatment regimen. Then he could go home and have a good night’s recharge for the following day. He’d pondered watching the execution tonight, seeing as it was being broadcast for all of Cybertron and the outlying territories to see. It’d be a once in a lifetime show for sure.

He exited the medbay and went down to his office, tapping the keypad and entering as the door hissed open. He flicked on the light, and nearly short-circuited in horror.

Upon his desk rested the Matrix, along with a data-pad.

I’m sorry, old friend. – Orion

Ratchet shook with rage and smashed the data-pad over his desk, pressing two fingers to his audial as he stormed out of his office.

“Ironhide, come in. We have an extremely serious situation.”

\- - - - - -

Ironhide rendezvoused with Ratchet and Ultra Magnus outside the building Megatron was being held captive.

“Can we locate Optimus?” Ironhide asked.

“No, but we’ve found Megatron.” Ultra Magnus indicated on a digital map of the city via a hologram. "He’s escaping through back alleys towards the city transport base.“

"Optimus is with him.” said Ratchet, woefully.

Magnus furrowed his brow. “How do you know?”

“He left the Matrix on my desk.”

Magnus gritted his teeth and growled something unpleasant under his breath. “I knew he was up to something…come on, soldiers. We’re hunting one of our own now.”

Magnus led the charge with Ratchet and Ironhide behind him, as well as any soldiers left from the previous waves, all the while cursing himself for trusting Optimus to not do anything foolish.

“I should have seen this coming.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Magnus. I doubt even Megatron could have predicted this.” said Ratchet.

\- - - - - -

“IS YOUR PROCESSOR MALFUNCTIONING?” Megatron protested loud enough for an echo to resound in the transport base. Once he got a view of the ship Optimus was putting him on, and once Optimus had told him of the Matrix’s whereabouts, the gears started to click into place.

“My processor is in perfect working order. My mind, well. That may be another story.”

“I’ll say.”

“Get in.”

“Hell no.”

“Very well.”

Optimus dragged Megatron onto the ship’s entrance ramp with all of his strength while Megatron resisted with all of his. He almost got Megatron fully inside the ship when the sound of soldiers made them both pause. Megatron bashed Optimus in the head with his own, running back down the ramp. Optimus shook off the stars in his vision while scrambling for the inhibitor chip controls. He smacked the controls with his entire hand, and a crash and abundance of swearing sounded on the ramp.

Optimus stood up, shaking off the fall, and quickly pulled Megatron along by his legs just as Magnus’ voice echoed in the transport base. “There they are. OPEN FIRE.”

Bullets ricocheted and hit both Optimus and Megatron. Optimus continued pulling until Megatron was completely inside the ship and stumbled towards the wall where the emergency mechanism for the ramp was stationed. The ramp retracted and rose up before the soldiers could board the ship.

Optimus stepped over a groaning Megatron rolling slowly on the floor and took seat in the pilot’s chair, going through the pre-flight routine as fast as he could while the soldiers outside fired on the door. There was no time for the engines to warm up. He had to go for a full burn.

He gripped the thrusters and slammed the levers forward, knocked back in his seat from the instantaneous force and using all of his upper body strength to maintain course as they zipped out of the base, high above the skyscrapers of Iacon and into the upper atmosphere.

\- - - - - -

A hyperspeed jump later, Optimus relaxed in the pilot’s chair, comforted by no blips on the radar indicating a pursuit. They were far enough away from Cybertron where a pursuit would involve more planning than they could muster in a split second.

Groaning behind him made Optimus’ audials perk up. He turned over his shoulder to find Megatron sitting splay-legged on the floor, holding the back of his helm.

“Sorry about the helmache. We had to leave in a hurry.”

“'Had’ to, hm? Did we have to?”

“If we were going to get anywhere safe, yes.”

“And just where do you think that will be?”

“Ideally, with me.”

Megatron’s optics flashed as Optimus put the ship into autopilot, rose from the pilot’s chair, and pulled out a key to the cuffs. He knelt infront of Megatron, inserted the key and twisted, and the cuffs fell to the floor. Megatron rubbed the sore spots on his plating where the cuffs were, then looked back to Optimus.

“Why did you do it?”

Optimus bowed his head and got quiet.

“Answer the question.”

“…You said you didn’t hate me, that you only hate what I represent.”

“And I meant it.”

“You also asked me if I hated you.”

“You said you didn’t know how you felt about me.”

“Yes, but…I wasn’t entirely truthful.”

Megatron stared at him in slight confusion. “Spit it out, Prime.”

“I mean…oh fuck it.”

Optimus retracted his face mask and crawled forward steadily, nose inches from Megatron’s face, and pressed his smooth lips against Megatron’s rougher ones. Megatron gasped through his nose, shocked at first. He gently reciprocated and rested his hand on Optimus’ shoulders–and then shoved Optimus off of him.

Optimus hit the floor and his helm rang upon impact. Megatron crawled over him and pinned him to the floor, snarling in his audial. “This is your reason? You over-rode my decision to die for THIS?”

Optimus held a moan in his throat at the voice in his audial. Megatron caught on to it.

“I never took you for a selfish mech, Optimus. You surprise me.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Megatron tilted his head and looked Optimus in the optics. “That remains to be seen. Perhaps, if you are capable of kissing me without treating me as if I’m some high-bred mech.”

Optimus made a confused noise, so he reiterated. “If you are so desperate for me, if you want me, Orion, you must kiss me as such.”

Megatron’s fanged grin was all Optimus needed to break his grip and crash his lips against Megatron’s. He was quick, but still too gentle; he was shoved back to the floor once more by his shoulders. “No, like this.”

Optimus’s arms were pinned to either side of his head, fingers locked as they had done so in previous battles. Megatron growled in his chest as he kissed Optimus. The way he kissed was similar to the way he fought; passionate, possessive, purposeful. It had Optimus moaning in Megatron’s mouth and weak all over.

Megatron broke the kiss. “Well, Orion? Do you think you can live up to that? Do you think you can live up to the mistake,” he framed Optimus’ face with a fingertip, “of saving me, of risking your life and that of everyone else, to court me?”

Optimus wheezed and nodded. “Y-yes.”

Megatron’s lips brushed his audial again. “Louder, Orion.”

“YES!”

“Hm. I suppose I can accept that, for now. Though next time, you had best shout louder. We’re in space after all, away from civilization. No one to listen to your sins. Not even Primus.”

Optimus’ knees shook as Megatron helped him up off the floor and he sat back in the pilot’s chair once more.

“Orion?”

Optimus turned his head, and Megatron was seating himself in the co-pilot’s chair, bowing his head and swiveling in the chair. “Thanks. For saving me.”

“No probl–I mean. You’re welcome.”

Optimus stared ahead at the stars. This was going to be a long, long journey.

**Author's Note:**

> The reference to Prandtl and Grashof is from this https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rayleigh_number


End file.
